


Gone Dark

by Crux01



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crux01/pseuds/Crux01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to rise to koalathebear's 'Two and Half Years Later' Challenge, here is my take on Quinn seeing Carrie for the first time after their separation....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Shadow

Quinn knew he shouldn't be here. At best he was wasting precious time that he didn't have and at worst..... Well that was somewhere he just did not want to go. 

But since he had arrived in Berlin and Saul had told him that she was here, he had felt the irresistible pull as if an invisible thread stretching between them was slowly being shortened. It had shocked him, he had thought he was long over whatever feelings he had once held for her, thought them submerged, lost forever beneath the torrents of violent pain and shit and blood that his experiences had piled on top of them since he left her. So, as with the other complex dichotomies in his life, he rationalised; it was curiosity only, a healthy need to see how someone he had once cared about had prospered, that brought him to this place. 

But deep down, behind the impenetrable wall where he hid away all his worrisome morals, he knew differently. Deep down he knew there was nothing wholesome about this need; he was concerned, scared even. He had been sucked into her orbit once before, almost been overwhelmed by the sheer force of her gravitational pull and only managed to survive by positively propelling himself away from her back to his own world. Could it happen again?

So he had come here, to this happy place, a Berlin park on a scorching Sunday afternoon, sweet smelling aromas drifting on the slight breeze, brilliantly bright and full of the reckless giggles and shameless screams of children as they splashed in the shallows of the chic steel swimming pool. They were oblivious; all vibrant energy, cherished and complacent in their ignorance, unaware of the evil forces that skulked so close, plotting to destroy, to bring terror, to wash away the safe stupor of their lives in rivers of ferocious blood.

Quinn drew on his cigarette and told himself it was to safeguard scenes like this all over the world that he did what he did. Through his bloody deeds he had lost all claim of acceptance into this world, would never be able to share the heat of their sun; hearth and home, family and friends would never be his, and yet without his sacrifice, and that of others like him, such simple pleasures would be lost to all forever. He bit back the unwelcome taste of professional pride. He sought no glory, he was no hero; there was no honour in a sniper bullet to the back of the head nor a garrotte wire to the throat followed by an exit so fast that the ensuing pulsating fountain of life blood could not physically hit him, although however quickly he moved he knew such action would always irredeemably stain his soul. His only motivation was that those he killed were bad men, that their extermination was a necessary evil and he hung on to this mantra with a tenacity made frighteningly strong by his desperate need to justify his actions.

Now however, such dark thoughts bringing him discomfort in such a bright festive atmosphere, he lingered, a dark, sinister figure in the cool of the shaded trees. He would see her soon enough in an official capacity of course, when Saul called her to him and they smashed the fragile bubble that surrounded her current world. Quinn had disobeyed orders before for her but now he had wanted to prove to himself that he was strong enough to resist her compulsion, that he would do what he was told and, ignoring the happiness of this woman, he would be the one to turn her dreams of a mundane normal life into the darkest of nightmares. He was the one who would pull her back where she belonged.

He watched the happy scene, a grim outsider unable to fit into the saccharine sweetness of their world, his only bridge to it the magnetic pull of her form. She looked good, he had to admit, she looked very good. She had her back to him, dressed in a white strappy top the gold stitching running through it glinting in the sun and a light pale cotton skirt, she was cool and sexy. Her skin was bronzed and her hair sweeping across her shoulders golden and lush. She was calm, relaxed in a way he had never seen before. He watched mesmerised by the fluid movement of the muscles of her tanned shoulders as she lifted her arm to wave to Franny across the pool. He dropped his cigarette, ground it too viciously into the ever growing pile of butts at his feet, reached instantly to his pocket for another as a hard, envious rush clenched his innards. How could she have done it? How could she have been successful at what he constantly failed to achieve?

He knew the thought was unworthy, petty and mean. He should be pleased for her; she had gotten out. Pleased that she had escaped the clinging chains that held him, pleased they had not been strong enough to keep her down. She had flown, soared away like a golden eagle on the mountain breeze. She had always been the stronger, when she made up her mind to do something, it got done. And look at what she had accomplished; a child, a man, a family. Quinn snorted ruefully, shaking his head. He should be happy for her. That she had managed it, if only for a short time. Glad that she had made the correct choice when he had offered her nothing but.... 

Shit! He should not have come, should have waited like Saul had ordered. He was fooling himself that he had moved on, that he was over her. Already, with just a whiff of her, he was disobeying orders, having thoughts that he had long since refused to consider. How did she do this to him?

He turned his attention to the man behind her. Quinn, who had turned forty at some point in the recent past, he wasn't sure when it had happened, had only realised in retrospect when he returned from a mission, was surprised to see this guy's age. He was at least ten years older than her, going by the distinguished grey that framed his intelligent face. He was fair, typically of German descent, with that debonair, sophisticated air that only European gentlemen of a certain age can muster. A father figure maybe? He was serenely reading the paper, lifting his eyes occasionally over the frames of his reading glasses, to drink in the sight of the beautiful woman before him. Quinn knew that stare, although he had never been in a position to deliver one like it, he saw it was affectionately warm and tinged with contentment; the stare of a lucky man who knew it and appreciated his blessings endlessly.

It was hot, even under the trees; Quinn felt a drop of sweat pool at his neck, and meander down the indent of his spine. The itch that had begun in his crotch when he first saw her had turned to full blooded throbbing with the visceral churning of never fulfilled lust. It hit him then, with the full force of a hard punch to the stomach. He remembered how she had made him feel, he tasted once more the perfect sweetness of her on his lips. That one time, that one moment when heaven had seemed possible even for him and he had reached for it with the absurd desperation of the drowning man. Could it ever have been his? Had he been wrong to open himself to the possibility? Been deluded to even consider that he could be a normal, decent man?

Fuck! It was happening again. Why did she make him think these things?

He shook his head. He had had many nights of contemplation in the time since; being on a mission gave you that unfortunate luxury. He was not an unintelligent man and, although never open with his feelings to others, he needed some clarity in his own head. At some point during those long lonely nights he had come to an explanation of sorts: He needed absolutes, he needed a world that was black and white. He needed a simple truth, not the complex shades of ambiguity that coloured her world; when he was with her she had shown him so many beautiful and horrifying colours. They had inspired him with their sheer intensity, made him see things he never should, made him doubt.... No, it was not for him. Thankfully, and mainly through her rejection of him, he had managed to close his eyes, look away, before the colourful brilliance she brought could fully and irreparably burn and blind his retinas. He had returned to what he knew, let others make the complicated decisions, he simply needed to be told what to do and he would do it. In allowing the last vestiges of his humanity to turn as black as the eclipsing moon, he had regained his control, become reliable once more and earned the respect of his superiors; so many names scrubbed of the kill list by his skill, the strength of his will. It was a price he had been prepared to pay and had never doubted the choice.

And yet standing here, watching her, she had rekindled those undermining thoughts within him as he feared she would. He did remember, remember that she destabilised him on so many levels; the physical pull to her but also the turmoil she created in his head; the vulnerability, the feeling of falling, the lack of direction and clarity. He could not return to that, he needed the control; the power that only his chosen way of life could bring him.

He squinted against the afternoon sun, noted how attractive it was that she laughed with her whole body oozing calm confidence. She was so relaxed as she leaned forward lifting Franny out of the pool, enveloping her in the huge towel. She laughed again, as the man, now standing beside her, warm in the radiance of her presence, said something witty and Franny stuck out her tongue mischievously. 

Quinn shivered involuntarily in the chill shadows. She turned, and for a second her eyes moved over where he stood. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds of a dull day. Quinn's mouth went dry and it was all he could do to draw in a shivering breath as a serpent of pure lust slithered in his bowels. He stepped back, retreating further into the dark. And then her glance moved past and he felt free to breathe normally once more, to be the man that he had become.

He had to be prepared, had to steel himself for what was to come. It was clear she could unnerve him, make him lose his assurance and purpose. He must be strong, keep his eye on the prize, play the long game, believe that the end would always justify the means and the needs of the many would always outweigh those of the few.......the clichés rolled around his head in a mind numbing litany. He snorted bleakly, aware that even inside his own brain he was beginning to sound like Dar Adal. 

Putting his cigarette in his mouth, he looked down at his trembling hands, imagined that they were stained with the blood of the many souls he had taken. Furtively he rubbed them down his jeans, knowing he could never wipe away what only he saw. Whether others could see it or not he knew he was drenched in blood and he could do nothing but continue onwards until he met his fate.

Gulping he looked back to the pool. She was gone, disappeared into the throng with her little family, happy still, for the moment. He leaned back against a tree, drawing desperately deep on his cigarette as if he could find the absolution for his forthcoming sin in its poisonous toxins. He blew the smoke out, marshalled his strength and resignedly began the walk back to where he had left his car.


	2. Losing the Light

"You still in then, Quinn?" She hoped it sounded nonchalantly jocular as she turned to place her bag on the X-ray machine tray. 

She had been afraid of what she would feel. It was so long ago. It seemed like some unlikely dream or something that had happened to someone else, a bitter sob story that she might read in one of those godawful magazines women left on trains and in waiting rooms. She had pushed it all so far away, never allowed herself to think of it after she finally acknowledged it was over and he was not coming back. She built a wall dammed with the bricks of betrayal and cemented with her heartbroken tears, unceremoniously stuffed all of the hurt and suffering behind it, grabbed hold of Franny with all the strength left in her soul and moved on geographically, psychologically and emotionally.

And then, almost three years later Saul's phone call had come like a deadly barrel bomb out of a clear blue sky. Reopening an old wound, she knew, always hurt, the muscle and the skin already weakened created a vulnerable point that succumbed more easily to any new pain. So, again she asked herself, why had she even come. Why, when she had been safe behind her wall, had she opened herself to this?

As she had caught her first glimpse of him emerging from the dark corridor into the bright extravagance of the embassy entrance hall, she had been shocked at how little he appeared to have changed. Spiky hair, rumpled grey shirt and the shadow of bristly whiskers on his chin were the key characteristics that she remembered of him. It was suddenly all familiar and yet, she was surprised to realise there was only a deep, empty chasm where her feelings should be. Nothing for him, no surge of lust, no lurching loss, no rushing need to run to him, to touch him....no emotion, just a fissure full of only a staccato stream of sepia memories, most of them horrific, all of them including him, projected into her mind in a completely random manner, frightening in their cinematic clarity. She forced them away.

As he stopped before her there had been no embrace, no hug. He simply outstretched his hand and shook hers once, his grip slipping instantly away, as if he could not bear the touch, his hand preferring the motion of a wave to indicate to her the location of the X-ray machine.

Now he barely nodded in response to her opening line. "Someone needs to keep the peace so you can sleep safe at night," he said sullenly.

She swivelled round to look at him, to really look at him and, like a film dipped into developer chemicals, the changes in him suddenly sharpened into focus and she realised that her initial appraisal had been wrong; he was not the same. What had been familiar in him was there but changed, pushed to the limit, every flaw accentuated to a point that they defined him, and all clinging desperately together to make him almost a fading caricature of what he had once been. 

There was much that was unfamiliar in this man before her. He was thinner than she remembered, pulled more taut and sharpened to an abrasive, bitter finish. His face, still defined by the sheer precision of his chiselled cheekbones, bore new lines around his mouth and eyes, she had no doubt they had been hewn into the pale skin through sacrifice and pain. He looked on edge, his body tight as a bowstring, his troubled, blue as ice eyes, their brightness extenuated by the dark shadows that framed them, darting around the room never allowing themselves to rest, always moving. She had seen that drawn agitated look before, it was the bleak stare of an addict longing for his next fix. She wondered what his drug of choice would be and realised that it, at least, had not changed, it was the same one it had always been, for all of his protestations and plans to leave, Carrie saw that Quinn never would kick his CIA habit. She shuddered perceiving, as only one who has suffered the same vice can, the terrible cost of such dependence.

"And how do you sleep at night?" she asked sympathetically.

Refusing to look a way from her, his face tightened into a humourless grin. As the flashes of memory returned to bombard her it was easy to pick out a relevant one; she remembered this smile from the day he had picked her up at Islamabad Airport before it had all turned into the clusterfuck. It was his 'don't-go-there' smile. "I manage," he muttered. "There's a price to pay for everything."

Unaware that she did, so lost in the glacial frigidity of his eyes, she reached out to touch him, to give him comfort. Once they had been close and whatever had happened to pull them apart, whoever's fault it had been, she had never really wished him hurt or pain. But he flinched away from her movement, blinking and stepping back slightly. "Come on, Saul is waiting," he said in a tone that was as chilled as the first snows of winter.

As she shouldered her bag and made to follow him, in a moment of tragic insight, she saw it clearly; he had retreated into himself, navigating away from even the slightest human contact, depending only on himself, and denying all that in another, more normal life he would have taken pleasure in. He was so utterly alone, drifting hopelessly on a ocean of desperate loneliness.

The emotions that had been absent hit her then in a wave of simple pity for what he had become, filling the emptiness within her as water rushes out to sea once the barrage gates are opened. She fought down the maelstrom of sharp sentiments that swirled with sudden painful intensity through her. Steadfastly she refused to examine the guilt, the pain, the shame and the other uncategorised emotions that sought to implicate her in his misery, forcing them back behind her own mental wall once more.

Instead, courageously holding herself together by drawing on her inner strength, she followed him along the safe corridors of the embassy, pushing the flashbacks from her mind of another seemingly impenetrable place that had proved to be anything but. Trying to ignore the feeling of dread relentlessly growing in the pit of her stomach, she forced herself to concentrate on the mundane but nevertheless pleasant movement of his pert ass as he walked in front of her.

"Nearly there," he threw over his shoulder to her as if unable or unwilling to face her.

"I know. I have been here before, you know," she responded somewhat defensively.

He turned stiffly. "That's right. A private contractor now." He rolled his eyes, "That must be....."

"Very interesting!" she bristled, her earlier sympathy transforming surprisingly easily into impatience.

"Right." He didn't even bother to hide his distaste and she felt a flash of irritation at herself that his disapproval mattered to her.

He opened a door for her and she hesitated, her mouth suddenly dry as the dread squirmed in her belly. The office in front of her was not well lit and she sensed a malicious cloud lurking over the place, the very atmosphere was one of deceit and oppression. Unbidden a picture from one of Franny's fairy tale books popped into Carrie's head. It was one of murky, gloomy colours with dank, twisted trees growing in grotesque shapes up to a blood red sky. Running between the branches ugly, stunted goblin-men were intent on making mischief, their faces contorted in hatred and their eyes lacking all human warmth. Franny had been visibly shaken by the picture and had mentioned it fearfully more than once, so Carrie, a little shocked by the pure malevolent brilliance of the image in a book for children, had hidden it at the back of a cupboard for when she was older, if ever. The image burned into her memory cells came back to Carrie as she sensed the same malice festering in the air around her now. 

How strange that up until a few years ago she had spent her life in such joyless environments and had even thrived in them. Now she realised she saw this place for what it really was; full of inhuman goblin-men plotting pure and devastating evil. She wanted no part of it, suppressing the apprehensive shudder that her revelation brought with it.

Taking a long slow breath she stepped forward, over the threshold. Saul, a little tall for a goblin-man perhaps but no less dangerous, stood up, his demeanour working hard at being friendly. Before she fully appreciated what was happening, he had gathered her to him in an all encompassing hug. She tolerated it but moved away from him as quickly as she could, to sit in the chair. Saul moved back to the other side of the desk, Quinn had already perched on the window sill behind his seat, his arms folded, face blank, so very still.

"It's been a long time, Carrie," Saul began. She could sense no trace of the awkwardness that he surely must feel. Did he really think they could go back to how it had been between them? "Lots of changes," he continued. "Dar Adal is recovering from a triple heart bypass, did you know?"

She snorted, ignored the urge to make a witty comment about that awful man even having a heart and satisfied herself instead with, "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

Saul ignored her jibe and continued, "And in his absence, Peter here, is Acting Head of Black Ops."

Carrie could not stop her eyebrows rising in shock. "You know I thought nothing you could say would surprise me but that does." She regarded him minutely but Quinn remained motionless and distant, his arms folded across his chest in a tight defensive pose.

"It's a great development opportunity," Saul said to plug the sudden painful silence that filled the room.

"Yeah, I bet." Carrie made her voice as unenthusiastic as possible.

Quinn's eyes remained fixed on hers, unblinking, ice intensity sheering into her but he said nothing. Carrie tried to read what he was thinking but he was a closed book, seemingly unperturbed by events, unwilling to bend before her as he once had, he was every inch the cold assassin. Sensing his reticence, she pointedly looked away back to her former mentor, who had been watching them both, his head bobbing left and right like he was watching a particularly exciting tennis match, a contented look on his face. Carrie's senses bristled in warning; what did Saul think he was witnessing here?

The older man's eyes finally came to rest on her, wide and beseeching, all trace of satisfaction gone. "Well, I won't procrastinate needlessly," he began. "We need your help, Carrie." His voice was deep and honeyed with the pleading tone that a loving but frustrated father uses on his wayward daughter.

"No," she replied simply.

Quinn shifted slightly but Carrie ignored him, her eyes fixed on Saul, as the emotion began to ebb and flow inside her once more. She felt a sudden surge of adrenaline, a feeling she had forgotten but now the furnace within her, long since dampened down and cold, began to smoulder again. She realised she had missed this feeling and she found herself relishing its sudden unexpected return.

Saul sat back, took off his glasses and sighed in irritation. "Are you not even going to listen to my proposal?"

"No," she repeated. There was something vigorously liberating in being able to speak her mind so freely. Here, with these two people who at one time had known her better than anyone else, who had seen her at the worst of times, she refused to be bound by any of society's niceties that now controlled her normal life outside this nightmare. She had come for a reason, to deliver her message and what she had found in this dark, depressing office, deep in the American Embassy, had only made her more resolute, she would do what she planned, no matter what strange awakenings this experience made her feel.

"Why did you come?" His annoyance had filtered away and Saul's voice seemed incredibly drained as he wiped his eyes wearily.

Carrie stood up, chair grating inharmoniously as it skidded across the polished tiles. "I came to tell you both," she began, her eyes moving from one to the other of these two pathetic men, that once had meant so much and now she believed she cared so little about. "To fuck off and leave me alone."

Saul snorted. "Carrie, I...."

"No stop, Saul. Do you really think after everything, after all that happened? Do you really think that now you have the right to ask anything of me?"

"But we need you. Javadi......"

"Stop it!" Her voice was dangerously angry. "I don't give a fuck. How dare you. How dare you come into my world and....." She stopped, breathing hard, her eyes flashing their sheer fury. She gulped, squeezing her hands together and breathing out slowly, finding the control, learnt so painfully in long hours of therapy, that now characterised her world "This is it," she continued, now fearlessly calm. "Goodbye Saul."

Saul stood up. "It shouldn't end like this," he pleaded again, a sad, wretched old man, he seemed to have aged decades in the few moments they had been together.

"Well, whose fucking fault is that?" Carrie spat back incredulously. 

He nodded slightly, shoulders slumping in defeat. "OK, OK. Peter, see the lady out."

She did not look at him again but turned and waited for Quinn to move smoothly as a hunting panther past them both and open the door to the outside world beyond the oppressive office.

They were both broodingly silent as they retraced their steps back towards the entrance hall. Carrie simmering with anger and hurt. Quinn apparently oblivious to it all, distant and silent. They stopped in the hall, bronzed eagle watching them with a beady eye from a position of polished prominence high above, ostentatious marble gleaming magnificently all around in a shaft of brilliant yet dusty sunlight. The serene beauty of the scene meant nothing to her. Everything she saw here was tainted, ruined by the evil that lurked in the depths of this building. She saw it all through the lens of a nightmare, shuddering as if even now she felt the malignant branches from the book reaching out to claim her still.

And yet something deep inside had stirred as she faced off with Saul. Something horrifyingly alluring. "I won't fucking do it!" She spat as much for her own benefit as for his. Her eyes were wide in appeal as she regarded him, searching for the elusive bridge that had linked them once so long ago, looking for a sign that he at least understood her reasons. Quinn simply regarded her, his head, cocked slightly to the side, was impassive as hard granite. "Thank you for coming, Ms Mathison," he said in a voice awkwardly loud, seemingly for the benefit of a nonexistent audience. "We'll be in touch."

She ignored his formality along with his outstretched hand, took a couple of steps towards the doorway and then turned back to him, her eyes flashing with fury. "You have fucking ruined it, you know." She drew in a tortured breath, snorted and shook her head. "You know, I'm remembering a night long ago....."

Quinn gulped and almost imperceptibly leaned away from her as if readying himself for a physical assault. His eyes flashed a warning, the first breach in his hitherto impressively impassive defences, a plea for her to stop but only for the barest second was it visible until he brought his eyes back under his hard as iron control once more.

Unbowed and hurting Carrie lashed out. "Not the one that you might think, but one in Islamabad when you tried to convince me you were a bad guy and I argued with you." She let out an almost hysterical snort and then spat,"You were so fucking right!"

She glared, her eyes daring him to respond as she allowed the emotion that had been burning inside during their walk back to spark like forked lightening towards him. He swayed a little but remained otherwise frozen and untouched by her fiery onslaught. Seeing that he was not prepared to verbally defend himself, she swirled around on her heel and moved towards the entrance. As she opened the door the smell of diesel fumes, the drone of traffic and the warmth of the sweltering bright day outside briefly penetrated the sanctified atmosphere and then it too was gone, and all was silent and cold as a crypt once more.

Quinn did not move. In fact he stood almost as deathly still as the burnished eagle above him for a long time, ignoring the questioning glances from the Embassy Guards, his only movement the flicking of a muscle beside his jaw. Presently he began to guiltily flex his hands impotently by his sides. Then, his eyes moist and bright, he gulped, turned and made his way back into the depths of the embassy, back to where the light had no sway, where darkness reigned and the goblin-men made their sinister plans.


	3. Darkness Risen

"You should be careful, the Head of Black Ops shouldn't stick to a set routine, you know. You're an obvious target for an enemy now, Quinn."

It was another sweltering night, close and humid with the threat of thunder never far away. She had followed him as he left work late and made straight for this less than stylish bar towards the centre of town. Outside in the unkempt beer garden a band were enthusiastically thrashing the hell out of their instruments and a small crowd of dark clothed youngsters, personalities hidden by wild messes of raven black hair and deathly white make-up, shuffled to the throbbing beat in varying stages of inebriation.

Inside, although all the doors and windows were flung wide, it was no cooler as, without modern air conditioning, there was only an old fan chugging uselessly behind the bar. Far away from the tourist routes, the place was empty save for a couple who were entwined, seemingly trying to climb into each other's skin in a corner booth oblivious to their surroundings and three rather rotund and whiskery old German gentlemen arguing with gusto about football and politics in the other corner. The one benefit of being inside was that the discordant noise and the pubescent, whining lyrics of the band were partially dulled to an incessant but ignorable thud. There were, however, many disadvantages, among them the sticky floor that caused every kind of footwear to squeak as people moved a long it, the lingering cloud of lung-destroying heavy smoke hanging sinisterly over the whole room and the rancid smell of long-gone sweating bodies overridden for grim moments by the eye-watering aroma of stale piss whenever the restroom door was opened.

Oblivious, Quinn was sitting at the bar, already signalling for another drink. He was still wearing his work clothes, although as the neck buttons of his damp shirt were undone revealing the top of his pale chest, his sleeves were scrappily rolled up and his shirt tail hung untidily over the top of his pants, he gave off no sign of any professional pride in his appearance whatsoever.

Carrie placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she reached up to whisper her wise warning to him. He flinched, unable to remember the last time anyone had touched him so intimately, or indeed with anything except a violent intent. He regained his composure swiftly. "Only Acting Head," he retorted fighting to keep the surprise at her sudden appearance and her teasing tone from his voice. "And Dar Adal did it for years at that goddamn waffle house without any trouble." He turned to regard her then, eyes wide but bleary, searching for honesty. "Are you my enemy, Carrie?"

She snorted, bending towards him, her flaxen hair was caught by the pathetic waft of breeze from the fan on the bar and it danced gently. "It felt like it when I left the Embassy last week but I've calmed down now. I don't want to be your enemy, Quinn. Shit, this is the fifth night in a row I've followed you here and the first when I've dared to come in to talk to you."

He leaned drunkenly towards her. "Fuck Carrie, I don't believe that, you're the most courageous person I ever met." 

She stepped away a little as if aware that she had got too close and she needed to put distance between them. "Well people change and I kept thinking about it and decided it was a pretty bad idea. I don't know what we have to say to each other."

"Thinking about it?" He shook his head. "In my experience that's a dangerous pastime. Better to let other people do the thinking, and just do what they tell you to do afterwards. Drink?"

"Lemonade with ice." She slipped gracefully on to the stool beside him, smoothing down the creases in the skirt of her pastel summer dress as she sat. "What happened to you?"

Quinn rolled his eyes at her choice of drink and then took a long gulp of his own distinctly stronger tipple as he signalled the barman. "That's classified information, Ms Mathison and believe me, if I told you I really would have to kill you. So let's talk about you. Germany." He looked around wistfully at the dilapidated bar. "Why the fuck Germany?"

"Well, I met a German guy....."

"A lawyer, Herr Jonas Hoffmann, right?" His triumphant tone melted as his disclosure ended and he mentally kicked himself as she stiffened suspiciously at his words. Christ, he had done so well to hold himself together at the Embassy, to give nothing away. But he had known then that she was coming, had taken the time to work himself up to that blank, impassive state, and been able to literally hide behind Saul. Now she had caught him with no chance to prepare, not only that, he was already well on the way to his usual drunken stupor. He was going to have to be very careful indeed.

"You know about him? Wait, don't tell me you checked him out?" she snarled.

"Fucking right I did. Didn't want you with the kind of guy who was going to fuck you around." He decided that honesty was probably the best strategy now he had stupidly revealed his actions to her. He realised that he had chosen wrongly again as she glared at him. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together, fast.

"No, you have the monopoly on that score, don't you Quinn?" Carrie spat back coldly.

He was flailing already and this barb was like a punch to the stomach. The air left his lungs and he dropped his head shamefully. Good old Carrie, she could still land a powerful blow when she needed to. He stuttered a little, unsure how to respond, bit his lip nervously and ran his hand through his hair. He took a gulp of his drink for courage and then, deciding to ignore her scoring shot entirely, responded, "Sorry, I interrupted your story."

"I expect you know it all already, don't you?" she snapped, tenacious as ever and unable to let her scorn go.

He opened his arms in a drunken gesture of innocence, just managing to miss the tray of glasses the barman was carrying past. "No I don't, honestly', he made himself slur, hiding behind the alcohol as he had hidden behind Saul last time. "Where did you meet him?"

She eyed him for a long time as if debating with herself whether she should just walk away. "In an airport lounge would you believe," she disclosed finally, her voice thawing as she spoke. "Franny threw up on him. He was very good about it and we got to talking. He lost his first wife to cancer ten years ago, got three grown up children. You wouldn't believe how passionate he is about the law and he knows so much!" She hesitated, her eyes coming back from a faraway place to rest on her companion and the assassin in Quinn sensed the killer blow was coming. "He makes me laugh, Quinn. He brings both me and Franny stability and love but most of all he gives us joy, and I realised that was what had been missing from my life for so long."

A feeling of complete inadequacy crushed him; joy was a currency he would never be able to deal in and, recalling all the things they had once shared together there had not been one thing that got even close to it. Quinn gulped. He fiddled in his pocket for his cigarettes and offered her one. She refused politely. "Jesus Christ, Carrie, no alcohol, no nicotine, don't you have any vices any more?"

She smiled. "No unhealthy ones. Anyway it looks like you practice enough for the both of us."

He lit his smoke and took a long, long drag."I guess," he admitted around the cigarette now returned to his mouth, as he fumbled to put away his lighter.

"Do you ever wonder, Quinn. What would have happened if I had said yes to you that night?"

Oh God, don't go there please, Quinn groaned internally, he knew he didn't have the strength to face this. "Never!" he snapped far too quickly. Sensing he was losing his control, he forced himself to relax as much as he could, even managed to blow a smoke ring and indicate to the barman to fill up his glass again.

She continued,"I mean to think we ever considered that we could be anything but colleagues. It's pretty weird, huh?"

So she had thought about it then. Quinn pushed down the queasy feeling that rushed up his gullet at the admission. He cleared his throat and answered as bluffly brave as he could manage. "Yeah, I guess I was just fantasizing. We were all a little crazy after what happened in Pakistan and then to be back in the real world, I thought... I let myself get carried away....." 

"Can you imagine the fights we would have had? Fuck we would have killed each other," she let out a strange almost giggle noise.

"Yeah." He shook his head. "It wouldn't have worked out. I would have fucked it up."

She picked up the self-loathing in his voice and wanting to make him feel better, she reached out to lay her hand on his and squeezed reassuringly. "You don't know that."

Christ, he thought, don't let her pity me! "I think the evidence is pretty conclusive," he said bleakly, staring at her smooth hand on his, wanting to touch her more, wanting to pull her towards him and kiss her like he had done once before, knowing with a deep forlorn certainty that he never could. Carrie was right of course, it would never have worked and he was fucking idiotic to have entertained the thought for even one second. He had to let her go.

He felt it then, the last dying ember of the flame that had burnt so strongly in him that night so long ago. He realised during everything he had been through in the intervening years, all he had suffered, which was more than most men would be able to endure, he had kept that small spark burning inside, never spoken out loud, never even acknowledged as a thought in his own head but it had been there, the simple hope that even though she had said no and he had run back to what he knew, he was the right person for her, it was just the wrong time. And from that the further fantastical leap that a time would come when it would be right and they would be together. Now he knew he could not have her, he would never have her, saw it in her playful dismissal of any chance of a relationship with him and in the way her eyes shone when she spoke of this Jonas guy and he knew it as an irrefutable truth. He gulped suddenly feeling hot in the clinging night heat; he really had to let her go. So, ignoring the pain it caused him, he smothered the hope-filled ember until it was only cold, grey ash inside him. He was surprised by the initial rush of relief the action brought him. He did not have to try to be anything for her, he owed her nothing. For a few brief seconds he felt light, weightless and free but such moments of peace would only ever be fleeting for Quinn. And soon a further realisation hit him that without that pitiable cinder of hope he would surely freeze to death very quickly.

"We should be friends," she continued unaware of the battle that raged within him. "Whatever else, we should be that."

"Sure, Carrie." He raised his glass, even managed to crinkle the edges of his mouth into an almost smile. "I'll drink to that."

"Friends!" she said removing her hand from his as they clinked their glasses together. "Prost!"

They were silent for a long time, Quinn morosely sipping at his drink, Carrie searching for something to say that would bring him back from the shadowy world he seemed to be sinking into. "Maybe you could come over and see Franny, you made friends pretty quickly before," she ventured finally.

"Yes I would like that," he responded but both of them knew he never would.

They were silent for awhile again, listening to the heavy thumping bass beat of the band outside vibrating through the whole place. A black clad goth staggered through the bar and puked down the restroom door, the acidic smell overriding the stench of stale smoke, sweat and piss for a brief time.

"Classy joint you frequent," Carrie quipped. She grew serious. "So why didn't you get out Quinn? You were so close, just one psych evaluation. I never understood it."

He snorted. "Look at me Carrie. I'm a fucking mess, damaged beyond repair. Sometimes I say things to make myself feel better....getting out was always a fucking fantasy." He stopped, warning bells sounding through the wet wool the alcohol had shrouded around his brain, he was giving away too much and yet, somehow it felt good to confess to her, to offload his sorrow, if he no longer had any aspiration to be the man she needed, he figured it was harmless so he bumbled on regardless. "The only time I feel alive, the only time I feel any sense of worth is when I'm working, when I'm killing people. It's the only thing that I can do right, the only thing that I don't fuck up."

"We made a great team." She said vaguely. She did not see the true misery and despair in what he revealed, and she ignored his disbelieving sniff at her weak response, took a sip of her drink, then idly swirled the melting ice around in her glass with a cocktail stick said what was really on her mind. "What is this job that Saul wants me to do? What's wrong with Javadi?" she asked all wide-eyed innocence.

So, finally she played her card, he thought, feeling suddenly frighteningly sober and exposed. She had come to the real reason for her visit, not to talk about him or what might have been, or even her own life and family, she wasn't interested in sharing that at all, not really. Her eyes gave away her real intent, they were suddenly sparkling with dazzling curiosity. He remembered how she had been with Saul at the meeting in the Embassy, swearing her disinterest and yet something subtle in the way her body had tightened and her confidence had grown alerted both of them that she was still attracted to what they offered. The old Carrie Mathison was not too deeply buried beneath the mother, the lover, the normal person she had become. 

So if he could never have her as he now saw was the undeniable truth, what was left for him except his job? And if that was the case, could he find the strength to screw her over as the job demanded? He knew he could, but he also knew that he would detest every second of doing it; it would swell the steaming cesspit of his remorse and despair to even deeper depths. Still that was nothing new. Hating himself but nevertheless playing the game, he responded, "You know I can't tell you that."

"Oh come on Quinn, you can trust me!" She was leaning into him now, so close her lemony breath was blowing into his face. His stomach clenched as he caught her long forgotten, and yet now painfully familiar scent, it's beauty enticingly sweet over the sordid bar smells. 

He felt awkward and shifted on the stool. It felt like he was reading the lines in some stupid, overly melodramatic high school play. "Saul says you will come around. He says that you can't say no to it. That you're like me. I tried, fuck, I have tried. I say no a lot but in the end I always keep coming back." He shook his head sadly. "Just can't kick the habit."

"Not me Quinn." She was mesmerising in her self-assurance and yet he, who had known her so well, caught the doubt in her eye, sensed the uneasiness there as she continued. "It's been nearly three years and when I left I was so finished with the whole thing."

He nodded but pursed his lips. It had to be done and he was the one who had to do it. "So why are you sitting in a crap bar with an alcoholic assassin when you could be out with your daughter on a beautiful summer evening in a lovely part of this gorgeous city?" he asked blandly.

Carrie shrugged uncomfortably. "You know how it is. I just wanted to renew our acquaintance. Make sure there were no bad feelings. We went through a lot together and you were there for me at a time when nobody else was. That meant ......means, a lot to me, Quinn. I still care about you. Friends, remember?" She smiled radiantly, cocking her head towards him so that her hair fell across her face.

How easy it was for them to lie to each other. He gulped, wanting to reach out and gently brush the wayward strands out of her eyes as a lover would but he denied himself such pleasure. They stared at each other for a long time, his hand twitching treacherously on the bar as if it was about to disobey his command so he pulled it back, stuffed it into his pocket, and looked away fighting against the pull towards her which was becoming almost unbearable. Fuck, why was it so hard to give her up? So hard to do what he had to do?

"Tell me what Saul wants." She was pushing now, the wanting naked and raw in her eyes, her longing biting deep. He recognised it immediately because it was so like his own. He sensed that she knew that she should not be doing this, that she should be satisfied with what she had, what she had built over the last three years but also he knew that what was on offer was so enticing to her, she just could not dismiss it completely. She needed to learn more.

They were not so very different, her and him, and he would not wish the weakness of this addiction on his worst enemy, let alone the woman that he cared so much for. Fuck Saul. Fuck the CIA. He couldn't do it, not to her. He would try to dissuade her at least but deep inside he knew there was nothing he could say. As Saul had predicted she was hooked once more. Christ, he thought, how much of this had that sly old fox foreseen? Feeling angry with himself for his part in getting her to this stage and for allowing Saul to manipulate him, he tried pathetically to put her off. "You've got so far, achieved so much, don't let it drag you back in, it is not worth it!"

She smirked knowingly. "That doesn't sound like the Head of Black Ops, acting or not, talking."

"Black Ops can go to hell," he said and in that moment of clarity he meant it with all his heart. "I don't give a damn about it but I do care about you, Carrie."

"Come on Quinn, don't be so dramatic, just telling me won't do any harm." 

He sighed, bit his lip as the confusion swarmed in his head. What the fuck was he doing? He was considering risking the little he had left to try to dissuade her and for what? It really did not suit him to act the knight in shining armour for a damsel who most certainly was not in distress and was going willingly into the dragons den because she yearned for the thrill it would give her. How many times did he have to tell himself that she did not want him before he got it into his thick skull? He gulped a mouthful of drink and then he surrendered giving in to her demand as he always knew he would. "Iran is fucked. Javadi is compromised and desperate, barricading himself in, cutting all communication channels, we need to get to him."

"Surely he has a handler?"

"Had.... The agent in question had an ugly, fatal accident. Now Javadi is asking for you. You're the only one he says he will trust to get him out of there."

"Shit, that's a high risk operation. And you can't just cut and run, leave him to it?"

Quinn shook his head. "He knows too much. Saul wants him safe or dead."

Carrie's eyes were flashing in the dim light. Quinn could feel the adrenaline buzzing through her. "Carrie," he warned, still reeling and lurching between the two very different viewpoints. "It's fucking incredible what you're done. Don't throw it away."

"It would be a short, sharp operation." She wasn't listening to him, her mind was running away now, plotting, calculating, he could almost see it working behind her eyes. "What do you think, a couple of days, a week at most?" She was enthused. "I could be in and out and home before anyone knew I was gone. Jonas would be OK with Franny for a couple of days."

"That's bullshit!" Quinn reached out and clutched both her shoulders tightly. He pulled her towards him so that their faces were only inches apart. "Carrie, no," he beseeched her desperately. "You shouldn't even be thinking like this. Go home. Forget it. Forget Saul and forget me!"

She slipped out of his grip, still too engrossed in her plans to be offended by his manhandling of her. "I think it would be possible though. I think I could do it," she mused.

"For fuck sake Carrie...."

"Relax, Quinn. I said I could do it, not that I will." Her smile was as disingenuous as Quinn had ever known it and it told him everything he needed to know.

He stopped entreating her, knew it was too late already for what he could see in her filled him with an exquisite dread. He realised that neither he nor Saul could have persuaded her, they could only ever have been the catalyst she would make her decision on her own. It was coming from deep inside of her, a selfish need, a deep wanting, a force pushing her on which she could not control and was as fundamental a part of her as her right hand. It was her brilliant genius and her doom. It would take account of nothing, not even her new life or her precious daughter. She was doing this for no-one but herself. He shuddered at its awesome power as a wave of remorse crashed through him for he blamed himself for reawakening it within her.

As if becoming aware of his pleas for the first time, she hesitated but the light in her eye did not dim. "You're right. I need to think this through." She slipped down from the bar stool and moved towards him. He staggered off his own seat, his legs so stiff and weak that he almost fell into her. She gave him a stilted hug and he closed his eyes, pretending it was the day of her father's funeral and that this time he would never let her go.

Too quickly she stepped away, destroying his drunken fantasy. "Thank you," she murmured and then she was gone and he accepted with a sickening finality that no matter what her choice, he had forever lost his chance to be the one thing he craved to be for her. Being her friend would have to suffice and probably, when she realised where he had led her, he would fail at even that.

Quinn sat back down on to the bar stool and lit another cigarette. Then he took out his phone and pressed a contact number. "Saul?" he said. "Yeah I know it is, sorry. Yes she did. She's considering the offer. Saul I don't think that...... Yes, OK, fine." He ended the call abruptly, opening his hand to let the phone clatter on to the bar.

Then he ordered another bottle of whiskey, because with the guilt that was pumping through his veins straight from his irrevocably broken heart, he knew damn well he would never find sleep without drinking himself into complete oblivion.

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

The next morning after he had stumbled into work, Quinn's phone buzzed with an unknown number. 

"Quinn?" Her voice cut through the fuzzy dregs the whiskey-induced sleep had left in his head, clearing them instantly. He closed his eyes, hating himself with a strength that was achingly intense even for him, so adept at self-loathing, as she continued succinctly. "I'll do it. And Quinn, you'll have my back, won't you?"

"Always, Carrie." He responded dumbly. "Always."


	4. Running to the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to SourCherryBlossom who asked me to continue the story. What's that saying SCB 'Be careful what you wish for!'

"Shut the fuck up!" Carrie spat, wishing her voice didn't sound so weak and panicked. But panic was all that she felt. How could this have all gone so horribly wrong? How could she have ever thought she would be able to do it like she could before? Shit, it was all wrong!

It had been wrong when she got to Iran, wrong when she met Javadi and it was so far north of wrong now that she was trying to complete her mission and get him out. She should have known the devious bastard would be anything but compliant, still it had been an awful shock when she realised that he really didn't want to go with her at all, that his plan was far more sinister. She should have seen it coming, would have done, once.

Desperate she had pulled a gun on him, managed to get this far and now it was a matter of waiting for her ride to show up, crouched down in an alleyway, in the dark night, deep in the heart of Tehran, having to listen to Javadi's macho self confident crap while her adrenaline pumped around her exhausted body, possibly the only thing that was holding her up and her nerves screamed at her to get the hell out!

"Nobody's coming!" Javadi's voice was slimy and confident. "Your extraction team is dead."

She glared at him, hoping he could get the full withering impact even in the dim light. "What the fuck did you want me for anyway?" she snapped. "Why did you make me come around the world for this?"

His gleaming white teeth were visible in his conceited smile. "For my trophy cabinet. Thought I would put you beside the foxy locks of another American fuck up!"

"You bastard!" she ignored his evil chuckle, listening to the sound of a car engine piercing through the otherwise eerily silent city night. It was many blocks away but coming quick. She gulped, still keeping her eyes and her gun on the smarmy man in front of her, wondering whether it was friend or foe. She would find out soon enough. Find out whether this was where it would all end. Christ, not here, not like Brody. She could not stand the thought of leaving Franny an orphan, knew she shouldn't have left her at all, not for a clusterfuck like this. She made a promise to herself she would never let herself be enticed again. If she made it out this time, it would be the last time.

Her heart shrivelled as she saw the markings on the Iranian Army jeep skidding to a squealing halt beside the alleyway. Javadi laughed but it choked in his throat as the driver clad all in black jumped down, ran towards them, throwing aside the desert scarf that had hidden his features.

"Quinn?" Carrie breathed in both surprise and relief. "What the fuck? Head of Black Ops making house visits now?"

"Only acting," Quinn grunted as he pushed past her, grabbed hold of Javadi and manhandled him toward the jeep. "I got a different leadership style to Dar Adal; It's more what you call hands on!" He snapped a second pair of cuffs on to Javadi, securing the Iranian to the roll-bar at the back of the jeep. "Come on!"

She climbed into the jeep passenger seat, he passed her a head scarf and their fingers touched for a second, something hot and visceral sparked between them. She looked up at him. "Thanks," she breathed, her mouth dry with more than the arid dust of the city.

He grimaced. "All part of the service. I promised I'd watch your back and I will." They hesitated for a further second and then she pulled herself away, fumbled to put the scarf on and Quinn turned. "I don't care if you're dead or alive," he spat at Javadi. "In fact the former is my preference. If you don't agree I suggest you keep your fucking head down cos this is going to get ugly!" Without waiting for a response he gunned the motor and the jeep lurched forward.

They sped through the slick streets in a nightmarish drive with no lights; dark shadows looming out at them like the ghouls on a fair ride and then fading away just as quickly. Carrie hanging on until her fingers were white and numb, Quinn completely focused on the road, the muscles at the side of his jaw tight to breaking and Javadi cowering down behind what little cover he could find in the back.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, Quinn slowed. "Road block?" Carrie asked fearfully.

Quinn snorted. "Hoping my boys have done they're thing," he said. "You ready?" His eyes were burning brightly, his whole body quivering with excitement like an animal before a coming storm. Carrie thought he had never looked more alive, never been more attractive and so different from the broken and pitiful alcoholic she had met in the Berlin bar just three short days ago. And, regardless of her fear and to her surprise, pure lust for him coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

She gulped back her dread feelings and nodded. And then they were flying again, wheels hardly touching the dusty tarmac as Quinn raced past the roadblock. Relief rushed through her as there was no burst of gunfire in response to their passing. Carrie saw nothing living at the checkpoint, just the boot soles of a couple of corpses defiantly pointing to the sky, left were they fell at the side of the road. It all flashed by in a dizzy barrage of images and then they were out of the city into the darkness. Quinn immediately turning off the black, smooth surface of the road onto the desert's dusty bumps and the jeep jumping like a rodeo bull as he grimly held on to the wheel.

"Your boys done good!" Carrie shouted over the noise of the straining engine and the flapping of her scarf.

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the terrain. "Always," he agreed.

They drove for most of the night heading south west. As the sky began to lighten over their left shoulders Quinn slowed and came to a gradual stop.

"What now?"

Quinn slid out of his seat. "We wait," he said. He reached over and undid Javadi's cuffs, pulling him off the back of the jeep roughly and forcing him down to his knees beside it. 

Javadi looked up at him, eyes unbowed. "You won't make it. My men will be here any second."

"How long?" Carrie asked, moving to stand beside Quinn.

He glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes."

"Too long. Not going to happen," Javadi chuckled. "Listen!"

"Shut up!" Carrie spat, but Quinn took hold of her arm, squeezed it softly, cocking his head.

"Fuck!" he muttered.

"What?" Carrie asked but then her stomach clenched with fear for she heard it too. The dull hum of numerous engines coming from a north easterly direction.

Quinn turned to Javadi. "How did they know?" he asked menacingly.

Javadi smiled. "I've got a tracker in my shoe."

Quinn bent down, roughly removed the shoe, opened up its heel and found the blinking device. With a scowl he dropped it to the floor and ground it into the dust under his boot. "What, you don't want to be fucking saved?" he spat.

Javadi's dumb smile increased ten-fold. "It was a trap, Quinn." Carrie said. "A fucking stunt for Javadi. He doesn't want to get out, he wanted me here. He played us all along."

"Yes," Javadi beamed. "I call it catching CIA agents, does wonders for your reputation in Iran and mine is in dire need at the moment. Lucky me, it looks like I've snared double points, not just the wonderful Carrie Mathison but her erstwhile boyfriend and Head of Black Ops, if only acting, Peter Quinn!" His eyes twinkled with glee.

"Is that right!" Quinn shook his head slowly, flexing his hands as if to let his undoubted anger drain away. Then he moved back to the jeep, pulled from between the front seats two M4A1 carbines. He passed one to Carrie, who looked at it suspiciously but accepted it. "What say we fuck up his plan? You used one of these before?"

She gulped. "In Islamabad."

He nodded. "Watch out for the recoil. Brace it on the jeep, take off the safety and just keep firing when I say." He turned to Javadi, who eyed him contemptuously, so Quinn hit him hard across the face with the butt of his own weapon. The Iranian fell backwards, blood spurting from his mouth as the air left his lungs and his consciousness deserted him with a dull groan. "There, now shut the fuck up!" Quinn muttered.

Over in the distance the lights of many vehicles could be seen moving towards them fast. They both hunched behind the jeep to use it as cover. Quinn glanced at his watch. "Only five minutes to hold out, it'll be easy," he said nonchalantly.

Carrie snorted but could think of nothing to say, so she concentrated on balancing her weapon and sighting through the eyepiece at the approaching vehicles. Her heart was tumbling sickeningly around her chest on a wave of adrenaline and fear. Quinn reached across and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "It's gonna be OK. We can do this. Ten hours time you'll be back with Franny and this will all be a bad dream."

"Remind me about this the next time I consider doing a job for you guys," she said.

Quinn grimaced. "Promise me this is the last time Carrie. I can't get your back forever, luck's gonna run out some time."

She snorted. "Get me out of here and I'll believe you could save me from anything, Quinn."

"Hell yeah, regular knight in shining armour, that's me!" he responded with bitter irony, then turned his attention back to the oncoming jeeps and trucks. "Ready?" Carrie nodded. "Let's get these motherfuckers!"

The staccato drill of machine gun fire filled the night along with the discordant revving of engines, the shattering of glass and the screams of men. Realising it was not going to be as easy to rescue their leader as they had hoped, the assailants stopped and drew their vehicles up into a barricade. 

"Easy," Quinn shouted his command and then more quietly. "Save your ammo for later."

Carrie let go of the trigger, stopped firing but the jarring from the weapon continuing to thrum painfully through her tightly-drawn body. She squinted through the darkness but could only pick out movement on the rare occasions somebody passed in front of a jeep light. Periodically shoots rang out over the barren wasteland towards them but their enemy seemed satisfied to wait.

Beside her Quinn stiffened as, through the night came the unmistakeable drone of helicopters. Carrie turned to see three sets of blinding lights coming in fast from the south. The dust began to swirl and her hair blow as she lost her scarf to the wind completely. 

"I'll take Javadi," Quinn instructed, shouting again. "When I say run, you go as fast as you can. Don't stop for anything. They have snipers with night sights so they'll get a bead on us. Right?"

The helicopters were in clear sight now, one moving in as the other two were bearing off left and right to lay down covering fire. Javadi was beginning to stir so Quinn mercilessly hit him hard again and then threw the limp body over his shoulder, passing his gun to Carrie.

"Ready?" she nodded. "Just like Butch and Sundance!" he said as he began to run towards the chopper.

"Shit, Quinn, you know how that turned out!" she answered. But he was already moving. Javadi was a dead weight and Quinn rolled from side to side as he tried to get some speed up. Almost instantly that he broke cover bullets began to whistle past either side of them.

Carrie followed. She was half way across the distance, her lungs beginning to burn, the two rifles seeming incredibly heavy in her arms slowing her down, when she felt her left leg erupt into an agony of pain. She fell, screaming as the earth rushed up to meet her. There was suffocating dust in her mouth and nose, tears and snot streaming down her face. She dropped the assault rifles, and began to crawl towards the helicopter, fighting the fear that threatened to paralyse her completely. Through her watery vision she saw Quinn make it and throw Javadi's limp body into the bright hold and then everything went black as oblivion claimed her.

She woke up with the pain wracking through her body. She blinked back the tears and the world solidified a little in front of her. She was moving forwards. All of her senses were screaming at her, befuddling her perception. Everything appeared slowed down. The noise of the helicopter and even the whistle of ordinance that filled the air around her was duller than it should be, like she heard it from underwater. Colour had leeched from the world and all was faded to grey like a watercolour left out in the rain. Her run, the bullet excruciatingly pulverising her leg, her fall, all came back into her mind but she was not scared because she looked up and saw that familiar dust-stained face with the sweat glistening on its rugged contours. She felt safe, secure in his arms. He had come back for her and he was lifting her into the bright sanctuary of the helicopter. She felt other hands take hold of her but she didn't care, she was lost in his blue as ice eyes. He was smiling with a look of pure joy on his face. It felt like time had stopped entirely, she would stay like this forever.

"Thank you," she breathed.

But he wasn't following her to safety. His face had suddenly stiffened, the sharpness of his features hardening to granite and his body beginning to fall backwards. Something splattered into her face pulling her from her reverie and the world suddenly sped up into real time as her senses started to overload. The ear-shattering thunder of the helicopter plus the whine of incoming weaponry crashed into her head. She smelt sweat and fear and tasted blood, stark, violent colours burned on to her retinas. She threw herself towards him but strong arms held her back. Still she pushed forward until she held his wet, slippery hands as he tried desperately to pull himself aboard but then gravity took over and he was sliding away, letting go..... letting her go. With one desperate lurch she caught hold of the sleeve of his shirt below the bullet proof jacket he wore but even as she held it the fabric gave way and he fell backwards, leaving only a rough, ripped rag in her hands.

"Go, go, go!" Somebody was shouting and the chopper began to gain height.

"No!" She screamed. "Quinn!"

His body hit the hard ground with a sickening thud that she saw rather than heard from the way it collapsed in on itself. She watched horrified as a dark patch began to form on the desert floor beneath his head, a crimson bloody puddle of gore as his life pumped out into the sand. His eyes, unblinking now, still held hers in a transfixed, lifeless stare.

And she could do nothing.

"Quinn! " she screamed again and again as the helicopter lifted and his body got smaller and smaller.....

 

*********************

It was a bright day at the end of October, the sky the most gorgeous vivid blue with only the odd puff of white cloud to interrupt its azure beauty. But looks were deceiving; it was not as benign a day as it appeared with a cold wind from the north heralding the oncoming winter. The old women in the market places clucked their tongues and said the omens were bad, it would be a cold one this year. Snow was expected early the following month and would last well into spring. Carrie wrapped Franny up particularly tightly with scarf, bonnet and wholly gloves and made sure her feet were snug in her fur-lined boots. She could not control her own shivering as she stood in the exposed doorway waving her daughter and Jonas away to the park; that wind was bitter.

Turning to go in her heart lurched as she saw a sinister figure lingering down the street. He waved to her, asking for an invitation to come closer. She gulped and indicated that he should approach and he did so, head hidden beneath a cap and his collar pulled up to shield his face. She still recognised his familiar gait.

"I thought you would come someday," she said a hint of disappointment in her voice. "What took you so long?"

Saul shrugged. "I was finishing up my stuff, leaving the CIA. I'm retired now, going to spend my life reading the news in the papers instead of making it and fishing. Can I come in, it's freezing out here!"

"Of course." They moved through to the kitchen where Saul took off his hat and heavy coat and sat where she indicated. "Drink?" she asked.

He nodded. "Anything that will warm me up."

"We should maybe have something stronger, Irish whiskey to toast absent friends," she said wistfully. "But I shouldn't, not in my condition. So coffee it is."

Saul accepted this news with a roll of his jaundiced eyes and asked simply, "When are you due?"

She patted her stomach absently. "A spring baby. A little boy in April. Jonas says we can call him Peter," her voice cracked on the name. "But I don't even know if that was his real name."

"It was." Saul responded sadly. "Does Jonas know?"

She nodded. "Everything. Secrets make you sick, Saul."

She let out a long poignant sigh. "I still think he'll turn up, you know. Like he did at my dad's wedding. In fact today even, when I caught sight of you in the corner of my eye, I thought. I hoped...." She let the sentence drop. Stepped over to the worktop and poured the coffee, then moved to sit opposite him at the table, stirring her coffee absently, watching the swirling of the liquid. "Jonas has asked me to marry him," she said finally.

"And will you?"

"Yes. Why would I not? If my life has taught me anything, it's that when you find joy you should grab it and hold on to it with every fucking thing you've got." Again another sigh. "Sometimes I think all that never happened to me at all. That it was some other crazy woman." She smiled but it froze on her face and she raised her eyes to stare at Saul. "Did you know that Javadi was playing us?"

Saul gulped, looked away at the beautifully appointed kitchen and the baby pictures on the wall, felt a stab of jealousy deep in his heart. She deserved the truth, he knew. "I would be lying if I said I didn't suspect it. Knowing his track record."

"And yet you still sent me into that?"

"I figured you were better at the game than he was."

She snorted. "Did Quinn know?"

"Hell no. It took me long enough to persuade him to get you involved in the first place, then he would only agree if he had your back. If he had known what I suspected I'm sure he would have refused point blank. He really cared for you, you know."

She nodded, her mouth pouting as if she would cry. "I know he did. He got me like no body else ever has, believed in me when nobody else did and he wasn't afraid to call me out for my shit. It feels kind of lonesome knowing he'll never do it again. But you know it's sounds kinda crazy but I get flashbacks every now and then. I can still see his face as he clung to me, just before he was shot...." She bit her lip, voice wavering as she continued, ".....and fell. He looked different somehow, I don't know, satisfied, happy even."

"He died doing a job...."

"Don't you dare say that he loved it cos you and I both know that he fucking hated it." She cut across him, her voice suddenly spiky.

"I was going to say that he was very good at it." Saul kept his voice soothingly soft.

They were silent for a long time before Carrie asked, "Does his son know?"

"I had a contact to the kid's mother. I told her. She asked me did he die a hero."

"What did you say?"

"I said yes, the fucking bravest and best. And she said she always knew that would be the way he would pass." He hesitated. "I think we all did." He took a sip of the coffee, felt the hot liquid run through him, warming his old bones. "Anyway, she won't be telling John Junior about him, she said the kid will never know."

The silence hung between them, morose and stagnant in the air. And, realising there was nothing more to say, Saul stood slowly up. "This really is goodbye, Carrie. I won't come call again. Have a good life, you deserve it." They hugged and then he was gone, just another old man wrapped up tight in the chill autumn breeze, what further secrets he had he would keep.

Carrie went through to the bedroom. She took out the small box she kept under the bed. It contained her treasures, things she had only started amassing since she became this calm, relaxed together person. Her father's razor, a dried flower from Maggie's garden and lots of things from Franny but she ignored them all, went instead for the faded piece of black fabric with its frayed edges. Tears sprang to her eyes as she brought it up to her nose, fancied there was still just a trace of his scent, musky and masculine. She remembered how she had clutched it as the helicopter lifted away and his body dwindled to nothing far below her. Unconsciously she sat in the exact same pose again. It was all she had, all the world had, to evidence his existence, no corpse had ever been returned by the Iranians, she knew it never would be. Just a pathetic piece of material, dusty from the desert, faded with time, just that and her memories.

She sat alone for a long time. 

It was growing dark when she heard the front door open and Franny's excited voice full of life calling for her. The light was suddenly switched on in the hallway outside, pulling her from the darkest depth of her reverie. She sniffed back her tears, stroked the material lovingly one last time and then reverently replaced it in the box and put that under the bed. The light was all through the house, and the voices boomed to fill the silence as the TV was switched on, the Disney channel if Carrie wasn't mistaken. Life was everywhere screaming for her to enjoy it, to embrace it, to live it. Everywhere except in this room full of melancholy shadows and remembering.

She lingered still. "Sleep peacefully, Quinn," she whispered. "Find joy, my guy who killed bad guys and always had my back."


End file.
